CHAPTER 157: DEATH IS LIKE...

{Music Recommendation: So Cold ~ Ben Cocks & Nikisha Reyes-Pile}

"Rhane... Rhane!"

The night pressed heavy, and though Rhane’s body lay motionless on the bed, his mind was not his own. It dragged him backward, down into the dark corridors of memory where the air stank of iron and wet stone. He was a child again, his wrists bound in rusted chains that dug into skin already bruised. The world was cold, mercilessly so, and he lifted his gaze upward to the towering figure of the woman who had birthed him.

His mother’s eyes were sharp, her mouth twisted as she barked commands. She did not look at him as a son, but as a soldier, a beast meant to obey. "On your feet," she hissed, "You’ll fight. And if you don’t—" she leaned forward, her face inches from his, "—your sister will pay for it."

Rhane’s small fists clenched, his teeth gritted until his jaw ached. He wanted to scream, to cry, to beg her to see him, but there was no space for weakness in her eyes.

Maybe he had always known, that this woman didn’t want them. Something about her eyes made it seem like the children she had with Nikolai ruined her.

The next moment little Rhane was dragged into the open. Rain fell in sheets, biting at his wounds, filling his mouth with the taste of salt and earth. The cold cut him raw, but the crowd didn’t care. Their voices a chorus of cheers and jeers.

The wild dogs snarled at Rhane, forcing to break free from the chains that held them. Their eyes glowed in the torchlight, their teeth bared and bodies lean and hungry. The sound of their growls vibrated in his bones. He was no more than a boy, but no one there saw that. No one cared.

"Fight," his mother’s voice rang again above the noise. "Do not shame me."

And so he did. Little Rhane lunged, his arms heavy. The dogs snapped, tore, sank their teeth into his flesh. Pain lit fire through his body, but he kept moving. Each blow he landed was followed by a roar from the crowd. They weren’t cheering for him, no— it was for the spectacle, the blood, the violence. He was only the offering, a tool that made their night’s entertainment complete.

The rain made it worse, stinging as it slipped into every wound. It washed red down his skin, down to the mud where it mixed with the pawprints of beasts. His breaths came sharp, too sharp, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. His mother’s words clung to him—If you don’t, your sister will pay.

He could see her face in his mind, his sister, innocent and fragile. She was the only light in that house, the only softness he had known. He couldn’t let them take her. Better him, always him.

A dog lunged and clamped onto his arm, dragging him to the ground. His scream ripped through the night, drowned quickly by thunder. Still, he struck, with his free hand, with his knees, with whatever his body had left to give. The rain poured harder, drumming into his ears like a cruel anthem. He didn’t even know where the strength came from— perhaps desperation, perhaps love. Perhaps both.

The crowd cheered louder. The chains rattled with every movement. And above it all, his mother’s voice cut through the storm. "Again! Don’t stop until they fall."

So he did not stop. His fists were raw, his skin torn, the world spinning with exhaustion. But he fought, because in the twisted arithmetic of that night, every blow he landed bought his sister one more breath.

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Rhane’s body convulsed where it lay, caught between heat and cold, sweat pooling under his neck only to chill as the night air touched it. His lips were pale, his breathing ragged, as though each inhale clawed its way up from drowning lungs.

The physicians had stripped away his soaked clothes and worked furiously to save a life. Though they spoke to each other, their voices were only a low hum compared to the sound of the rain outside.

Percy couldn’t sit. He paced the length of the chamber like a man waiting for a wife in labor. He shouldn’t be scared, after all Rhane had stood tall after a great wound and had survived other contests with it but at the moment Percy was beyond terrified.

The man on the bed looked nothing like the one who had stood unshaken in contests and games. Rhane was shivering violently, his body burning one moment, ice-cold the next.

"Please..." Percy muttered under his breath, the words breaking apart like smoke. "Stay alive... don’t make me— don’t make me face her without you." He turned sharply, staring at the window as if Jenna was standing there at the moment and blaming him. His jaw trembled. "I should’ve told her. I should’ve gone to her for hel—"

A choked sound escaped Rhane’s throat. Percy spun back, his heart slamming against his ribs. One of the physicians pressed a damp cloth to Rhane’s forehead, another stitched the wound on his stomach.

"His fever’s fighting him, and it’s because of the infected wound," the older physician murmured, "but he’s strong. Stronger than most. If anyone—"

Percy cut him off with a look. "Don’t tell me ’if anyone.’ Tell me he’ll live." But the physician only lowered his eyes.

Percy moved past the physicians, holding Rhane’s hand. He pressed their palms together, something like a prayer falling from his mouth without him realizing it. "Please," he said again, with his eyes closed. "Please don’t leave me with her. Don’t leave her like this."

Meanwhile inside Rhane’s mind, the noise choked him.

The dogs had circled again, their growls low and eager, their eyes bright in the torchlight. The rain poured harder, blurring the world into streaks of black and grey.

Rhane was tired. So tired. His fists wouldn’t clench anymore. His arms felt like stone. He wanted to lie down, to let the mud swallow him, to close his eyes and forget the fight, forget his mother’s voice, forget the world. He wanted to stop breathing.

Maybe it would be easier if I stopped. The thought slid through his mind like ice. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much. Maybe death was like falling asleep. His will to live, to fight, was slipping like water through his hands. The dogs lunged again. He didn’t move.

"Master Rhane!" a voice cut across the darkness— faint and distant.

Younger Rhane looked around, his lips moved but no sound came. Sweat ran down his temples. His hands twitched weakly at his sides, when he looked down he was bleeding. And somewhere deep inside that storm of pain, the boy in the chains fell to his knees, staring at the mud, listening for a reason—any reason— to rise again.

"I love you Jenna... woman, I love you."

When he heard his own voice, Rhane woke with a start, his body drenched not in rain but in sweat. The phantom ache of the wound still burned on his stomach. His chest heaved, his heart pounding as if he were still in that pit, still a boy clawing for survival.

Rhane looked around the room. There was no crowd. No rain. No mother barking orders. Only silence and the ghost of a child who had never been allowed to be one.

And Percy, who slept deeply beside him still holding Rhane’s hand, the cockerel crowed announcing a new day.